Second String Heroes
by Mattk
Summary: A companion piece to Bleeding Through: Not everyone is a magician or a martial artist, but that doesn't mean that there's nothing you can do.
1. Pep Talk

It said something about Middleton that when the teenage boy in the flying wheelchair landed in the parking lot of Bueno Nacho, the bystanders took more notice of the attractive African-American girl in his lap.

Neither of them were paying attention to the bystanders, however, as they rushed into the restaurant and looked around anxiously. Both sighed and sagged in disappointment when they saw that Kim and Ron weren't at their usual table – or any table, for that matter.

Then they shook it off, turned, and exited.

"Okay," Monique said as they reached the parking lot. "So they didn't feel like any comfort food. Maybe they went straight home."

"Which home?" Felix asked. "You know they didn't split up."

" 'Course not," Monique agreed. "They probably haven't let go since it happened." She snorted, and a momentary, wry grin flashed out. "I do hope they've been doing more than just sitting together, holding hands, and moping. If there's anybody who needs and deserves some pelvic cheerin' up, it's those two."

"Amen," Felix agreed. "Now, which house?"

"Let's try Kim's first," Monique said, the grin gone. "It's – "

"Don't bother," A familiar voice said.

They turned to face the speaker, something that took a bit more effort for Felix.

"Hey, Zita."

"Hey, _m'ija_," Zita said, nodding to Monique. "Dragon Reaver," She nodded to Felix.

Monique looked quizzically down at her boyfriend.

"It's an Everlot thing," He said.

Monique just shook her head and rolled her eyes. "So why aren't we bothering?" She asked.

"I just came from there," the other girl answered. "I had the same idea you did, only in reverse order. I went to Kim's house, and I sent my boy to Ron's. If either of us found 'em, we'd call. If not, we'd come here." She glanced at the Bueno Nacho building and shuddered. "Which is the only reason I'd ever come here to MexDonald's."

"Aw, c'mon _angelita_," A less-familiar voice said. Zita's boyfriend – a tall, skinny, bespectacled redhead named Aaron Reilly – entered the parking lot. "You'd come here for me, wouldn't you?"

"No. Blasphemer." She swatted at him lightly, then pulled him down for a kiss. "I'd get you some real food. Now." She let go of him, and her face turned serious. "No luck?"

He shook his head. "Kim's brothers were staying Ron's house," he said. "They said something about a secret mission."

Zita shook her head in disgust. "How's that for timing?" She said.

"Crappy," Felix said, answering the rhetorical question. "But maybe they'll at least get to hit something."

Monique had been silent for a long moment, but now she broke that silence.

"_Damn it!_" She shouted, clenching her fists and stamping her foot and making everyone jump. "I should've gone with them!"

"You should've what?" Aaron asked when he regained his composure.

"I should've _gone_ with them!" Monique wailed. "I should've _done_ something! Anything! Instead, I just…wimped out again!"

"Honey, if you did, we all did," Felix said, reaching up and stroking her back. "But I don't think that's what happened. It just happened so fast…I don't know about you, but they were out the door before I really understood what was happening. I mean, Ron told me, but I didn't really…"

"_Believe_ it," Zita finished. "It just didn't seem like it could be real. They kicked two heroes outta school – for _bein' heroes_! What freaky alternate dimension did we fall into?"

The rest of them muttered and nodded in agreement, but then Aaron spoke up again, frowning. "But even if you had gone with them," he asked, "What would it have accomplished? Really? I mean, I'm all for getting suspended for a good cause, but I don't think Burlson would have cared."

"I don't know," Monique shrugged helplessly. "Probably not. But at least it would've shown them – my girl, and her boy, and baldy, too – that they weren't alone, that we were standing with 'em."

"Noble," Another familiar voice said. "But pointless."

Bonnie Rockwaller.

They hadn't paid attention when the car had pulled into the parking lot, and the passengers had gotten out. Why should they? But now Bonnie was coming across the parking lot toward them, with Brick in tow, and was that Tara and Josh straggling behind? Now _full_ attention was being paid.

"Come to gloat Bonnie?" Monique asked angrily. "If you have, you want to be somewhere else."

"You know," Bonnie snapped. "If you'd care to listen to me before you start hissing and spitting, I might just have a _real_ plan for you."

Monique paused. She wasn't quite sure she'd heard what she thought she'd heard. "A real plan?" She asked.

"For _making_ Burlson care," Bonnie said. "That's what you want, isn't it? Or should I just go take care of it myself while you all stand here whimpering about what you coulda woulda shoulda done?"

Felix put a hand on his girlfriend's arm, just in case. Then he looked up at her, and they exchanged nods, and he turned his attention back to Bonnie.

"We're listening," He said.

----

Hours later, Bonnie Rockwaller trudged through her front door. She was more tired than any cheer practice had ever made her – even more than the very first ones for the Pee-wee football team's junior squad – but more satisfied.

She was greeted the instant she stepped in the door by her fluttering, squealing, clearly distraught mother. "Oh, Bon-bon, you're here! At last, you're here! I was getting so worried!"

Bonnie looked at her mother quizzically. "Worried?" She said. "I didn't think I was that late, Mother."

"It's not about being late!" Her mother wailed. "People have been calling! And they've been so _angry_! They've been saying all sorts of strange things, things that just _can't _be _true, _about the sports teams and – "

"Oh, that," Bonnie said, shrugging out of her jacket and hanging it up. "Yeah, that's true."

Kathy Rockwaller stared, wide-eyed and wide-mouthed, as her daughter calmly turned back to her. "No, Bon-bon…you didn't…you didn't really…"

"Yes I did, Mother," Bonnie answered. "I quit, and the entire cheer squad quit with me. Brick did the same thing with the football team. Now that the word's out, I bet that there won't be a team, club, or activity left by tomorrow. No more Middleton Mad Dogs."

Kathy Rockwaller grabbed her daughter's shoulders. "But…but Bon-Bon…but…_why_?"

"Did you hear about what happened today?" Bonnie asked. "With Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable?"

"Of course I did," Her mother answered. "What does _that_ have to do with anything?"

"I can't have school spirit for a school that would betray its heroes like that, Mother," Bonnie replied, shaking her head. "None of us can."

"But they didn't have any choice," Her mother protested. "So many parents – "

Bonnie had a sudden, awful thought, and she was just as suddenly certain that it was right. In fact, she felt stupid for not having had the thought before. "You weren't _one_ of those parents, were you, Mother?"

Kathy Rockwaller suddenly couldn't quite meet her daughter's eyes. "Of course not," she said.

"Good," Bonnie said. "Because I remember you telling me once, when I was – what, four? – how hard it is to be a good person, because bad people always tried to hurt good people. Kim and Ron are good people, Mother – they've saved the world from the bad people over and over again. They saved us all from some bad people just this spring, remember? So the bad people tried to hurt them, because that's what bad people do. And they tried to hurt _us_, just because we were there, because that's something that bad people do, too. And some of us _did_ get hurt, but the bad people didn't get to kidnap us like they wanted to, because we drove them away. We killed all of their weird green-goo soldiers and they had to run – and we were able to do that because Kim and Ron showed us how. They led us, and Kim protected us from the bad guy that we _couldn't _fight. Because that's what good guys – what _heroes_ – do. And the bad people smashed her for it."

Bonnie paused. From the look on her mother's face, you'd think she'd never heard this story before. Maybe it was just that she'd never listened.

"But Kim beat the bad people in the end, because she got better. She was scarred and burned and broken, but She. Got. Better. She came back. But just as she came back – " She swallowed hard. "Somebody hurt her again. Someone took her coming back away from her, and I was there to look in her face and see how much it hurt, and I realized how bad someone would have to be to want to hurt someone that good that much, and – " Her voice broke. "And I would hate to think that _you're_ a bad person, Mother."

Her eyes glistened in the dimness of the front hallway, but that was okay, that was only fair – her mother's were flowing.

"We only ever wanted to protect you," Kathy Rockwaller whispered, forgetting that she hadn't been one of the parents to complain to the school district.

"That's all they ever wanted, too," Bonnie said as she started up the stairs to her room.

----

Bonnie wiped at her eyes as she climbed the stairs and her mother fled weeping. _That_ had been ugly. It had needed to be said, but it had hurt so much. Daddy had always been the one to do it when law needed laying down – Mother was the one for hugs and cuddling and embarrassing pet names. Smothering as she could be, Bonnie hated to disappoint or hurt her – and today she'd done it on purpose.

Had to be done. She didn't want Mother to be a bad person. She was too tired of being one herself.

Still. She felt sick. Right now, she just wanted to go up into her room, throw herself down on her bed and cry for a couple of hours.

Unfortunately, it didn't look like she was going to get to do that, at least not right away. Her sisters were blocking the top of the stairs like guard bitches.

"Are you out of your ditzy little mind?" Connie hissed as Bonnie approached them.

What was this? Were her sisters actually _defending_ Mother? Angry on her behalf? That was a first.

Lonnie picked up where Connie had left off. "This is the girl who always beat you – "

"At everything!" Connie interjected.

Nope. They were focused on something much more important.

"This is the girl who broke our family tradition of winning the talent show!" Connie continued. "And now, when you _finally _win – "

"Hello! Silver platter!" Lonnie said, holding out her open hands.

"You throw it all away! How can you be so stupid?"

Bonnie looked at her sisters as if she was seeing them for the first time. She couldn't believe what she was hearing – at least Mother had been _trying _to do the right thing – but she wasn't _surprised_, either. Always before, her whole _life_, they'd said "I got the brains, I got the looks, and Bonnie got everything else". Nothing she'd accomplished had ever been good enough. She'd always been less than them.

And it had all been a sham. Looks, brains, whatever they had, there was nothing else to them.

A slow, contemptuous smirk spread across her face.

"What?" Connie demanded.

"What's so funny?" Lonnie added.

"You are," Bonnie said, still smirking. She took the last step and pushed past them. They tried to stop her, but found that they couldn't. Twelve years of ballet and eight years of cheerleading had left her much stronger than they were. _They'd_ never had to work at something so hard, after all. They'd never had a Kim Possible to compete with. They'd had everything handed to them on Lonnie's silver platter.

She shoved them out of her way, and sauntered on to her room. She paused with her hand on the knob and turned her smirk back on them. "You know what?" She said. "I just figured something out. You may have gotten the brains," she nodded to Connie. "And you may have gotten the looks," she said to Lonnie. "But _I_ got the guts."

With that, she entered her room, and slammed the door in their stunned faces.


	2. Huddle

It was after nine when James Possible answered the knock at his front door. He was tempted not to; his family had had enough "excitement" for one day, and they deserved – needed – to have at least a few hours to themselves. Of course, whoever-it-was would see all the lights on, know that the Possibles were home, and know that they were being snubbed, but so much the better. Anyone who could just walk up to their door and knock on it had probably played some part in getting Kim thrown out of school. Of course, they might genuinely need help. And while it would serve whoever-it-was right if they had to figure out how to get by without Kim, he knew she wouldn't want that.

That was why he opened the door, in the end, but he opened it with the full intention of physically throwing whoever-it-was off the porch if they weren't in immediate danger of death. He changed his mind when he found Monique and Felix waiting there.

"Hey, Kids," he greeted them. "Looking for Kim?"

"Yes, Mr. Possible," Monique answered. "Is she here? We heard something about a mission."

"She's packing for that," He said. "You're lucky you caught her. She's leaving in the morning. Which is all I can tell you."

"Gotcha," Felix agreed. "How about Ron? We checked his house on the way over, and he wasn't there."

"He's helping her pack," Mr. Dr. Possible answered. "He's been to…where they're going…before. Of course, if memory serves, he's the last person in the world who should be helping _anyone_ to pack, under _any_ circumstances." He grimaced, remembering the times they'd taken Ron on family trips.

"Kim does have a better hold on the concept of 'traveling light'," Monique agreed.

"Can we talk to them?" Felix asked.

"Sure, they're – I'll call them down," Mr. Dr. Possible said. He knew that Felix's wheelchair could fly. What it couldn't do was fit up the stairs to Kim's room at the same time.

"Why don't you join us?" Felix invited. "You and Mrs. Possible. This concerns you, too."

"Is this about this afternoon?" Mr. Dr. Possible asked.

"Yep," Monique said, a feral grin spreading across her face. "This afternoon, and making the bastards pay for it."

"We're going to get Kim back into Middleton High, Mr. Possible," Felix added.

James Possible, startled for a moment, grinned back just as ferally as Monique. "Come _right_ in," He said.

----

(_Tight hug_)

"Hey, Kim."

"Hey, Monique."

"How you doin', girl?"

"I'm okay. Been better, you know."

"I know. Damn it, I'm sorry girl."

"Sorry? For what?"

"I should've – "

(_Felix, sternly)_

"Monique, what did I tell you?"

"Stop being so mean to your girlfriend."

"That's right. Now c'mon. We've got strategy to discuss, and Kim's mom has leftover double-bacon pizza."

"Hey! That isn't leftover, that's mine!"

----

For the second time that day, the Possible family and Ron Stoppable sat down around a table to discuss strategy. This one was more pleasant in a number of ways, however: there was food, they liked the people they were talking to, the tweebs hadn't been cut out of the loop (although, admittedly, they'd mostly been included to distract them from their own plans of revenge, most of which involved particle-beam weapons), and at the end of the meeting there was an actual strategy to use against a foe they knew they could beat. There were just a few last-minute quibbles over details.

----

"And _Bonnie_ came up with this?" Ron asked, stunned, when his two friends had finished.

"Yep."

"Uh-huh."

"Okay, that does it, we're checking her for mind-control chips."

"I don't think so," Mrs. Dr. P. said. "I've been seeing signs for a while now that Bonnie was starting to thaw toward Kimmie."

Monique, remembering the confrontation in the mall that summer, started to nod. She opened her mouth, but Ron got there first.

"Thaw?" He squawked. "This is…global meltdown! New York and LA are flooding as we speak!"

"True," Monique agreed. "But she's right. Bonnie's been being her version of friendly for…_months_ now. I don't know when or why it started, but…" She shrugged.

"I still think we should check for mind control," Ron said.

"And _we _still think"

"That we should just"

"Hook up"

"Our portable Singularity Inducer"

"To the ignition"

"Of Superintendent Burlson's car," Jim and Tim said.

"Don't even joke, boys," Colleen Possible said sternly.

"Aw, mom," The tweebs whined in unison.

"Your mother's right," James Possible said. "As much as he may deserve it – "

"James…"

"And as tempting as it may be – "

"You're not helping."

"It would be the wrong thing to do," he finished piously. His wife watched him suspiciously.

Her suspicions were justified, of course. "Your Singularity Inducer is still in the testing stages. You need to use technology that you know to be dependable."

"That's it, I'm searching _everyone's_ book bags, briefcases, and _pockets_ before they leave the house."

"Of course," James went on, as if he hadn't heard her. "Chances are, it would be traced back to us. Unless – "

"Felix and Monique's, too."

James Possible grinned at his wife. "Just letting off some steam, dear. I think that it's a great plan, myself. Bonnie's, that is."

"It is," Kim agreed, breaking her silence at last. "But I can't let them do it."

Ron, her father, and her brothers all made noises of shock and disbelief and stared at her. Felix and her mother shook their heads in fond exasperation. Monique just grinned smugly.

"No letting for you to do, girl," she said. "It's already done."

"It's not too late to back off," Kim said. "People will think it was all a rumor, or that you couldn't get enough people to agree to it, or – "

"Girl, please. This is _Bonnie_ we're talking about. Have you ever known her to back off from _anything_? Especially because _you_ asked her to?"

Kim frowned. She was right. Nonetheless: "But you – she – they _have_ to. I mean, what if somebody loses a scholarship because they didn't play, or – "

Felix interrupted with a noisy sigh, rolling his eyes, and shaking his head. "Heroes," He said. "You lay your life on the line for us every other day, you get your face chopped into New York Strip steak – " That drew a gasp from the Possibles – and Monique – and a frown from Ron, but Kim just blushed. "But oh no, please don't trouble ourselves on your account." He snorted. "I kinda think maybe fuckin' not."

He paused, then looked sheepishly around the table. "Uh, sorry for the language," he apologized. "Kinda got carried away."

"No, it's okay," Mr. Dr. Possible said. "It was appropriate for the occasion."

Kim wasn't interested in Felix's language, and she wasn't quite ready to give up yet: "Look," she said. "I don't want anybody getting in trouble over this."

"Shut, girl," Monique said sternly. "You two are worth it."

"Hey, no need to convince me," Ron said. "I'm all for it."

"Ron!" Kim scolded.

"What?"

"The whole world is facing a doomsday level of peril right now, in case you'd forgotten!" She said. "It can't be about us!"

There was a moment of silence as all of the people around the table realized – or remembered – something about Kimberly Ann Possible.

This was the girl who was on every club, committee, and community service project in Middleton High. The girl who was all but physically incapable of saying "no" to anyone who asked her for help, whether it was in getting their cat out of a tree or saving the world. The girl who wore the dangerous, experimental speed-shoes rather than delegate or ask for help. The girl who had treated her own recovery from could've-been-crippling injuries as preparation for facing – and _saving_ – Shego.

Part of it was the stubborn pride of the Girl Who Could Do Anything, but another part was simply that…it was _never_ about her. Not if there was someone else for it to be about.

"Thought I told you to shut, girl," Monique said, much more gently. Kim shut, and Monique reached across the table to her. Silently, a little confused, Kim took her hand. "There is _always_ some doomsday peril," Monique continued. "Whether it's giant robots or death rays or that black hole thingy…but whatever it is, we have to keep livin' like we're gonna live through it. And that means making sure you have a home to come to here. You deserve that much. This time, it _is_ about you."

Kim opened her mouth to protest, but she was interrupted again, this time by her mother: "It's okay to let someone stand up for _you_ this time," she said.

Kim opened her mouth again. Then closed it. For a moment, the Brave Face that she'd been wearing since that afternoon slipped, and she wasn't the World-Saving Teen Hero anymore – she was a seventeen-year-old girl who was broken-hearted that she wouldn't get to cheerlead this year.

She swallowed hard, then nodded. "Okay," She said softly. Then, she took a deep breath and steadied herself. "Okay," she said more firmly.

There were encouraging noises and gestures from around the table – a hug from Ron, a pat on the shoulder from her mother.

Then her father turned his attention back to Felix and Monique, a grim, eager…_fierce_…grin on his face. "Right. That's settled. Kim and Ron will see to saving the world, we'll take care of the rest. What do you need from us?"

**Author's Note: That was a good idea y'all had, making this a continuing story. I never intended to neglect the Home Front (have I ever?), but this way, I have more room to work with than if I'd gone with my original plan of fitting it into "Bleeding Through" (and the occasional one-shot) wherever it could. Thanks for the suggestions. **


	3. Blitz

-TV ON-

Channel 6:

_A crowd, mostly teenagers, marches in downtown Middleton. They chant and carry signs that say _Bring Back K & R _or_ Middleton Civics Class: Save the World and Get Expelled _or _Middleton High Stands Behind Its Heroes!

_A reporter – a young man in a blue suit – stands in the foreground._

"You can see behind me the students of Middleton High School, many of whom are members of the sports teams who have quit in protest of Kim Possible's expulsion. That's right: no football team, no soccer team, no – "

-_click_-

Channel 9:

_Josh Mankey appears on screen, speaking into a microphone. A female voice, presumably a reporter, asks him questions from off-camera._

"Now, you were actually injured in last spring's attack…in fact, the word is that you were hurt more severely than anyone but Kim Possible herself."

"That's true. My jaw and the orbital bone around my left eye both needed surgical repair."

"And yet you want to bring Kim back?"

"And Ron. Absolutely. They've done too much, and sacri –

-_click-_

Channel 3:

_A middle-aged male reporter in the "distinguished gentleman" mold holds up a microphone to a man who was clearly chosen for his somewhat scruffy, beer-bellied appearance._

"I think these kids got a lotta nerve, protesting a decision from the superintendent. I mean, what're they gonna do next? Hold a love-in when this Rockwaller b(_beep_)'s boyfriend gets detention? Talk about putting the inmates in charge of the asylum! We need to –

-_click_-

Channel 5:

_Kathy Rockwaller speaks into another microphone._

"Yes, I was one of the parents who demanded that Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable be removed from Middleton High School. But I was wrong about that, and I now hope that I can help to undo the damage I've done."

-_click_-

Channel 7:

" – the third mutilated pet found in the Wannaweep area in the last two weeks, raising fears that – "

-_click_-

Channel 6:

_Felix's wheelchair flies overhead, pulling a banner that reads:_ GIVE THEM BACK THEIR SENIOR YEAR!

-_click_-

Channel 7:

" – camp's caretaker is being sought for questioning, but can't be located at this time – "

-_click_-

Channel 13:

_A crowd of adults, much smaller than the crowd of teenagers, marches and chants, waving signs that say: _Keep Our Children Safe – Keep Kim Possible Out _or _Terrorist Attacks Shouldn't Be On the Lunch Menu_. One shows Kim in her battle suit, holding her EMP gun. It reads: _No Weapons In Our School! _Some have brought small children with them, and one little girl is holding a sign nearly her own size that reads _Please Keep Me Safe

_Felix flies above them, still pulling his banner. Some shout or even halfheartedly swing their signs at him, but he is out of reach._

-_click_-

Channel 5:

_Ron and Kim's Parents stand in front of a bristling forest of microphones. Surprisingly, it is Mr. Stoppable who speaks. _

"Of course we intend to pursue legal action. The school district skipped over whole volumes of due process in their eagerness to expel our kids. If nothing else, a pair of minors were released from the school in the middle of the day without us even being notified."

"Mr. Possible! Where are Kim and…uh, Ron…now?"

_Mr. Dr. Possible leans toward the microphone that the questioner is holding toward him._

"They're at a private school right now, which has requested that we don't give their name out. They don't want their classes disrupted by a lot of media attention."

"Is it true that many prestigious schools and academies have offered to take Kim in?"

_Now it's Mrs. Dr. P who leans in._

"That's true. But both Kim _and Ron_ would prefer to finish their senior year at home, with their friends."

-_click_-

CNN:

_The very image of the stereotype associated with the word "General" – a dignified, middle-aged man with short-cropped silver hair in a dress uniform bedecked with medals and rank insignia – steps up to a bank of microphones._

The United States Army would like to join the other branches of the Service in condemning this betrayal of two genuine American heroes. We have offered both Kimberly Ann Possible and her partner the opportunity to take high school completion courses at West Point, but – "

(Phone Rings)

-_Mute-_

"Hello?"

_A female voice speaks:_ "Superintendent Burlson?"

"This is he. How may I help you?"

"I'm a friend of Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable – "

"Now look here, I don't – "

_Overriding him_: "And believe it or not, I'm your friend, too."

_Suspiciously: _"What do you mean?"

"I'm going to give you some friendly advice."

"Oh, really. What's that?"

"Let them come back, or your state and federal funding will be cut to a sliver of their current size."

"Even if I believed you, I don't respond well to threats."

"This isn't a threat, Stuey. It's a warning. If someone has to come to you about this officially, it _will _cost you. You _do _still want to build that new sports complex, don't you? If you get stubborn on this, you won't have enough money to replace that broken bench in the front row of the visitors' bleachers."

"What? How do you – "

-_click_-

(dial tone)

----

Superintendent Stuart Burlson hung up the phone, turned off the television, and carefully set down the remote control before clenching his fists and growling in impotent rage.

So this was what happened when a man tried to enforce some discipline in his own school in this day and age. Try to hold a spoiled, reckless media star and her thug boyfriend accountable for their actions, and they all turned on you. You'd think that at least the _military_ would be able to see past the covers of all the teen magazines and understand what he was trying to do. But no!

Fine. He would save the students of Middleton High even from themselves if he had to. Maybe it wasn't a fight he could win, but if they were determined to make an example of him, then by God, he would _be_ an example! But not the kind they were trying to make.

He'd show them the _real_ way to run a school before he was through!


	4. Penalty

**Author's Note: Just so no one gets confused – I have changed the name of Zita's tall, skinny, bespectacled, redheaded boyfriend from Eric to Aaron. Eric Reilly is an old OC of mine, and I forgot to consider the special meaning that the name "Eric" has for this fandom before I blithely tossed him in to prove that Zita (no less than thecharacters who managed to pair up with someone in canon) has a life of her own beyond her interactions with K&R. **

Superintendent Stuart (only very rarely "Stu", and _never_ "Stuey") Burlson sat in the chair in the main office of Middleton High that was usually occupied by Steve Barkin and feverishly sorted through a stack of papers as Barkin himself looked on, his face deliberately neutral.

"The first thing I want," Burlson said. "I want that…propaganda out of here. Make an announcement: anyone wearing a t-shirt or a hat or a pin or _anything_ supporting Kim Possible after today gets suspended."

Barkin frowned doubtfully. "Are you sure about that, sir?" He asked. "None of those things are obscene or offensive by the standards of the dress code."

"They're disruptive! That's enough!" Burlson snapped back. "And I want you to keep an eye on the ringleaders. The very first chance you get, I want _them_ out of here, too."

Barkin's frown deepened. "Mr. Burlson – "

"I mean it. If that Rockwaller girl so much as chews gum in class, she gets a week's vacation."

"Mr. Burlson. You have the right to revise the dress code whenever you want, of course, and to change the penalties associated with breaching it. But it has to apply to everybody. We can't just single out individual students."

"Spare me, Steve," Burlson said, not even looking up. "The feud between you and that Stoppable kid is legendary. Stories of the latest skirmish even make it down to _my_ office."

Steve Barkin shifted uncomfortably. "That's different. That's – "

"I'm sure it is," Burlson interrupted, still not bothering to look at the other man. "I'm sure that in your deranged, drill-sergeant type of way, you think you're helping him. It's still singling a student out for special treatment. But forget about that for the moment. We have bigger fish to fry than him _or_ Bonnie Rockwaller."

"What fish are those, sir?"

"I need the records for every Kim Possible-related incident since her first day of freshman year. Stoppable too, if he has any of his own. If either of them ever so much as stuck gum under their seat or dropped a beaker in Chemistry lab, I want to know about it."

"Is this part of our defense in the court case, sir?"

For the first time, Stuart Burlson grinned as he kept sorting through the papers in front of him. "Better," he said.

"Better?" Barkin asked.

"Better," Burlson nodded. "The best defense is a good offense, Steve – you should know that. So if the Possibles and Stoppables keep on with their lawsuit against _us_ for expelling their fine, upstanding young sociopaths, then we'll just have to counter-sue for all the damage that their little escapades have caused over the years."

Steve Barkin's jaw dropped in horror, but he couldn't muster any other response.

His horror increased as he remembered some of the "incidents" in question. A great deal more than a beaker had been broken when he'd accidentally turned on that science project that she'd worked on with Justine Flanner.

Of course, the Possibles would have lawyers of their own, and if they had even basic brain functionality, they would make sure that all of the mitigating factors came out: that it had been primarily Justine's project; that he himself had been the one to ignore their warnings and safety precautions and release that dinosaur-thing from wherever they'd sent it; that they'd quickly trapped it again and then repaired the damage at no cost to the school with one of Justine's other devices. All of that would make a great deal of difference in court, but to a certain sector of the public it would make none. It would simply be a case of Kim Possible (and somebody else, but who cares?) bringing something dangerous to school. Her reputation would be that much more smeared.

Burlson was continuing on, oblivious to his subordinate's frantic thoughts: "And then I'll show them just _how_ badly I respond to threats. They're not the only ones with friends in The System. Child Services has been waiting for a chance at the Possibles for years."

Barkin had thought that it couldn't get worse. "What?" He gasped.

"Think about it, Steve – they've allowed her to run wild on these 'missions' of hers since she was in seventh grade, doing work that should only be done by highly-trained professionals. And now, just a few months after she finally caused – and suffered – some real damage, she's run off to God-knows-where." He snorted. "Private school, indeed. Anyway, I know for a fact that there are some at Child Services who agree that those troublemaking little brothers of hers should be removed from that environment."

"No."

Burlson finally looked up, frowning. "What was that, Steve?"

"I won't take any part in this."

Burlson just raised an eyebrow. "Mutiny, Barkin? From you? I wouldn't have thought – "

"This isn't the Marines, Mr. Burlson. And it's a damn good thing, too. When someone makes decisions this bad in the field, people die."

"I. Beg. Your. Pardon?" Burlson rumbled, rising to his feet. Steve Barkin was a head taller than the superintendent and outweighed him by nearly a hundred pounds, but he had to force himself not to take a step back.

"Possible and Stoppable are good kids, and you're committing _all_ of the resources of this district to keeping them out," Steve Barkin replied, letting his superior's rage break against him like a wave on the rocks. "It's not just doomed, it's wrong. And I'm not going help you tear down them or this district any further."

"I don't recall giving you the option," Burlson said, getting into Barkin's face. "This isn't a school board meeting. I'm not interested in anyone's opinion, least of all yours. This may not be the military, but I _am_ your superior, I gave you an order, and you _will_ carry it out."

"No," Steve Barkin said. "I won't."

"Then you're fired."

Steve Barkin just shrugged. "You're awfully casual about throwing people out of this school. Stu."

"You're no longer an employee of this school, Barkin," Superintendent Burlson said, returning to the desk, turning his attention back to the papers. "So you're trespassing. Get out of here before you get a police escort of your own."

"I'm going," Barkin said, heading for the door. "But I have to warn you: this isn't going to work out any better for you than the last one."

----

It was an unusual group that sat down to lunch in the Middleton High School cafeteria. Actually, "unusual" might have been too mild a word. "Impossible" might have been more like it. Oh, Monique, Felix, Zita, and Aaron sitting down together was no big at all. Even Josh and Tara joining them might not have raised many eyebrows. But Brick Flagg and especially – _especially_ – Bonnie Rockwaller? So not happening. But it was.

At the moment, none of them were eating. A wise decision, perhaps, but it wasn't the hostility of the food that had killed their appetites. It was shock.

"Mr. Barkin…gone," Monique said. "This is JNTBB."

"What – "

"Just not to be believed," Felix translated before Aaron could finish his question.

"Oh. Thanks."

"Don't worry about it. Hang out with us long enough, you'll pick up the Monique speak."

"Well, I bet at least Ron's happy about this, wherever he is," Josh said. "Or he will be when he finds out."

"No," Tara disagreed. "I don't think he will."

"And believe me, man," Felix added. "He knew about five seconds after it happened. Just trust me on this."

"Thanks for trying for the silver lining, though, sweetie," Tara added, patting her boyfriend's back.

He smiled back at her ruefully, but said nothing else. The rest of them also fell silent, contemplating the fact that another of the foundations of Middleton High was gone.

"Man," Zita breathed after the moment had passed. "Barkin _gone_. I didn't think it was possible."

"It's not," Aaron said. Everybody looked at him in surprise.

"But dude, it happened," Brick protested.

Aaron shook his head. "My parents are teachers," he said. "So I can tell you for a fact that pretty much no one in the district likes Burlson. Even if someone did, you can't just fire people off the job like this was the dinner shift at Bueno Nacho. Barkin has a contract. The teacher's union is gonna come down on Burlson like a ton of bricks."

Everyone around the table fell silent for another long moment, stunned. None of them had considered that. Had Burlson?

"Wow," Zita said at last, once again breaking the silence. "I knew it would get rough, but I didn't know _how_ rough."

"Testify, girlfriend," Monique agreed. "People are mad enough about this…I'm hearing words that I _never_ thought I'd hear in Middleton."

"Hearing?" Zita said. "No notes?"

Monique shook her head. "Crank calls."

Zita nodded in commiseration. "Sucks, doesn't it? These _blancas_ – " She waved at Tara and Bonnie. "All they have to worry about is hearing 'bitch', 'cunt', and 'whore' over and over again. These _comemierdas_ are too stupid to come up with anything better. But us…they know just the right words to hurt us _real_ bad, don't they?"

Monique nodded in agreement, and both boyfriends took their cue to wrap a comforting arm around them.

"Well, to be fair to the shit-eaters," Josh said, drawing a startled look from Zita. "They do have their moments of creativity. I've had a couple offers to 'finish the job' on my face."

"And I've had a couple of guys threaten to break my arms," Felix added, holding up a hand and wiggling his fingers.

"Does this mean it's getting _too _rough?" Bonnie asked, speaking up for the first time. Surprisingly, it didn't sound like a challenge. For once, it seemed like she was actually concerned about the well-being of her troops.

"Nah," Zita said, waving it off. "Just bitchin'. You gotta let us have that."

"Of course," Bonnie agreed. "It's just…people are getting crazier about this than I thought they would. Especially baldy. If what Aaron says is right, then he's not just cutting corners, he's breaking laws. Who knows what he'll do next?"

"Kim got thrown out for saving our lives," Monique retorted, her voice and her eyes hardening. "We can take it. Now, what are we gonna do about this dress code thing?"

"Maybe we could go the civil disobedience route?" Tara suggested. "If he suspends half of the school over this, things will fall apart."

"Further apart," Josh added.

Bonnie considered that. "Not just yet," she decided. "Let's stay in his face a little while longer."

----

Superintendent Stuart Burlson stormed through the halls of Middleton High, his face like the headlamp of an oncoming train, the between-classes crowd of students wisely scattering before him.

It was a conspiracy. It had to be. He knew that the idea was crazy, the first step toward true paranoia, but he couldn't think of any other explanation. There was no other way that this much catastrophe could intrude on his orderly life at the same time unless it was somehow being orchestrated.

What should have been the relatively simple task of finding a substitute principal had proven impossible. It wasn't that there were no qualified candidates – there were no candidates at all! No calls, no interviews, no resumes – no one wanted the job! How was that even possible? Had Barkin or the teacher's union or…somebody…spread the word that anyone who took the job would regret it?

No. Of course not. That way lay madness. No one wanted to get involved in all the bad publicity, that was all.

Well, whatever the reason, Stuart Burlson had found himself stuck doing Steve Barkin's job for the last three weeks. He'd just had to pull two hulking delinquents apart and have two of the newly-hired security guards haul them to separate rooms in the office because one of them had found his German shepherd messily dead this morning, decided that the other must have done it, and _further_ decided that the appropriate course of action was not to call the police, but start a brawl in the halls of the high school.

Bad enough, but he could hold together a school-full of teenage miscreants. That was what had started this whole mess in the first place. It was everything _else_ that was coming apart.

His friends at Child Services had told him that there was nothing they could do. They weren't being leaned on…they were being flat-out _ordered _to leave both the Possibles and the Stoppables alone.

The counter-suit wasn't going any better. It turned out that many of the two hooligans' escapades were covered under "Good Samaritan" laws. They couldn't be sued for trying to help. Some – like the "science project" incident – were not, but there _were_ no damages, and if he wanted to press Reckless Endangerment charges for that, he'd also have to file them against Justine Flanner, the pride of Middleton High. He wasn't willing to do that. Yet.

And speaking of lawsuits, the teacher's union was threatening one for breach of contract in the case of one Mr. Steven Barkin!

Then there was the proverbial last straw. Utterly insignificant compared to the other problems, but somehow most infuriating of all.

The students had obeyed his change in the dress code. The day after he'd made the announcement, there hadn't been a single "Bring Back K&R" pin or t-shirt to be seen…on anyone's body.

Instead, they were hung in place of the trophy-banners in the gym; set up in display cases so neatly that it took a second look to realize they didn't belong there; pinned by the dozen to the stage-curtains in the auditorium; strung on clotheslines across the ceiling of the cafeteria, too high to be reached without sending in a janitor with a ladder and drawing yet _more_ attention to them with the disruption. The damned things were everywhere, and that didn't even count the flyers that were taped up all over the school, and the messages that were chalked on the sidewalks.

If only he could find out who was doing it and make a few examples, that particular problem would end. He was sure of it. But he _couldn't_ find out – that was the problem. He'd been shocked to discover that Middleton High had no security cameras; the faculty had claimed that they'd never needed them before. He didn't see how that was possible – even without this campaign of sabotage, the place was barely under control. He'd had to station at least one of his new guards in D-hall on a permanent basis.

And the teachers weren't helping! Some of them _had _to know who was behind this…psychological warfare. _Somebody_ had to have seen _something_. But none of them were talking! He didn't doubt that if one of them saw one of the saboteurs at work, they'd just look away, grinning…or walk over and help.

Well, maybe the security cameras would have to wait until he could get them approved by the school board (shouldn't be a problem, they were clearly necessary), but there were other ways to find culprits beside actually catching them in the act, and he was about to use one of them right now.

Bonnie Rockwaller was standing at her locker as he approached. How disappointing. More convenient, perhaps, but he'd been looking forward to using his key.

"Hold it right there, Miss Rockwaller!" He called as she started to close the door. "Leave that locker open!"

She paused for a moment, startled, then gave him a suspicious look and continued to close the door.

What did she think? That he was trying to trick her somehow? That he needed a warrant to search her locker if what he was looking for wasn't in plain sight?

"These lockers are school property, Miss Rockwaller," he reminded her. "We just let you keep things in them. Now leave that one _open_."

Still looking at him dubiously – as if _he_ was the one acting strangely – she let the door fall back open and stepped back.

He looked into locker and grinned, a great surge of triumph (all too rare these days) welling up inside him.

She'd been right to try and close the door on him, not that it would have mattered in the end. Everything he needed was right there before him.

He had her now. Time to end this nonsense.

----

A crowd gathered around Bonnie Rockwaller's locker as Superintendent Burlson rooted through it. Bonnie stood back, her arms folded, trying to look like this was a mild inconvenience instead of a humiliation.

_You knew that this would happen,_ she told herself. _Or something like it. You've been expecting it. Deal. _

"Aha!" Burlson shouted, pulling something out of the locker and waving it at her. "What do you call this?"

"I call it a t-shirt," she replied evenly.

"Don't get smart with me, young lady," he snapped, holding the garment in question up so everyone could see it. It had a gorgeous picture of Kim and Ron fighting a Diablo (a Josh Mankey original) scanned onto the chest, with the words 'NOW THEY NEED _OUR_ HELP' on the back. "You know these shirts are banned."

"That's why I'm not wearing it," she said. She already knew how this was going to end, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to make the best showing she possibly could. "I was going to change into it after school." _For this afternoon's picket line,_ she didn't say.

"That doesn't matter. These aren't allowed on school grounds at all, and you know it. And this!" He snatched a small box out of the locker. "What's this?"

"Is chalk banned now, too?"

"I told you to watch your mouth. I don't suppose you know who wrote that cute little message on the front sidewalk this morning?"

"No, I don't." This was true. She'd had to leave the meeting early yesterday, so she didn't know who'd ended up volunteering. The only ones she could really rule out were Felix (his chair's tentacles couldn't do that kind of fine manipulation) and Josh (because he would have gotten caught up in his work and made a magnificent, subversive piece of art – that he would have gotten caught in the middle of).

The 'cute little message' had been "K&R SHOULD BE WALKING IN THIS DOOR TOO".

"Miss Rockwaller," he said, almost purring in satisfaction. "I'm sure that you think otherwise, but I'm far from stupid. I've known all along that you were the instigator behind this little rebellion, and I've just been waiting for you to mess up…just a little. This contraband in your locker fits the bill perfectly."

Contraband? He made it sound like he'd found an Uzi and a dime bag in there.

"So here's what's going to happen: you're going to go home. Right now. And you're going to wonder if you'll _ever_ get to come back, because after all the trouble you've caused in this school, I'm going to see if I can find grounds for your expulsion. But suppose I can't. Suppose you get to come back after a nice week's vacation. That doesn't mean you're out of the woods yet." He leaned in close, his voice dropping. "You see, Miss Rockwaller, I don't think that you're stupid, either. You must have expected something like this to happen at some point. But you must have _also_ expected that everything would come out right for you in the end – that you'd get your friend back in and then everything could go back to the way it was. Well, I can assure you, that's not going to be the case. I'm going to talk to the Athletic Director and make sure that once this little strike is over and the teams come back, that you're not on any of them. She may not like me very much, but I think that she likes what you've done to her livelihood even less. Whether I have to change the disciplinary standards for athletes or if she simply refuses to take you back because you led the walkout, your cheerleading career is finished at Middleton High. Now get out of here."

He turned and started to walk away, but she called after him: "Friends."

He turned back to her, scowling. "I beg your pardon?"

"Friends. Plural. Get my friends back in. Everybody seems to forget that one of them is there, but I'm surprised that you would."

Burlson's face reddened. "You're not helping yourself or them, Miss Rockwaller. Go home."

----

The crowd quickly dispersed as Burlson turned and stormed off. None of them particularly wanted to be the one that he took his spoiled victory out on. Most just scurried away, though some few looked over their shoulders as they went – some snickering, some with pity. Only two people lingered: Josh and Tara.

Heedless of late-bells and vindictive bureaucrats, the blond girl hurried to her friend's side. "Oh, Bonnie, are you okay?" She asked.

Bonnie took a second to answer, but when she did, it was as firm and confident as ever: "Of course I am," she said. "I knew something like this might happen. Just a little bit of a shock when it actually does, you know? Cheerleaders don't even get detentions, so suspension is something _totally_ new."

Tara nodded in agreement, but the concerned frown didn't leave Josh's face.

"Are you sure?" He asked. "You don't have to be tough for us, Bonnie."

"So don't have to," Bonnie said, waving him off. "Look, I'm going to get out of here before Baldson calls the cops on me, but I'll be right back tomorrow, setting up a picket right across the street." She grinned maliciously. "_Just _off school property."

"And we'll implement Schedule Dress Code," Josh said.

"Right," Tara agreed. "We'll be joining you on the street corner before you know it." Then she blushed like a pre-Ron Kim Possible confronted with a hottie. "That didn't come out right at all…"

Bonnie smiled. "It was sweet anyway. And it sounds like a plan. Now I'd better go, and you'd better go, and I'll see you tomorrow, 'kay? 'Kay. Buh-bye now. I'll see you tomorrow." They tried to protest, but she shooed them toward their next classes before they could. Schedule Dress Code wouldn't be very impressive if everybody got suspended _before _they could come in with their K&R regalia.

----

Bonnie Rockwaller leaned over the sink in the girls' bathroom and took deep, ragged breaths.

She would not cry. Would _not_.

Didn't need to be tough for them? Of _course_ she did! She was their leader, wasn't she? If she wasn't going to be tough for them, who would?

Give the chrome-domed bastard his props, he'd found a way to make it hurt. It was like tightening your stomach for a punch in the gut, and getting a kick to the head instead.

Cheerleaders didn't get detentions, let alone suspension…but she wasn't a cheerleader anymore. She was glad that neither Josh nor Tara had thought to bring that up.

The door opened, and she immediately straightened, forcing her breath to even out, forcing all other signs of incipient weeping from her face. It was a skill that her sisters had given her a lot of practice with.

Composure regained, she prepared to turn and march from the bathroom, taking no notice of the newcomer. Nothing going on here, nothing to see. Just answering the call of nature before I leave.

But before she could turn and march, she heard a voice that she hadn't heard in years…not since she'd stopped listening to its owner.

"Why are you doing this, Bonnie?"

----

Bonnie's eyes widened, and she slowly turned to face the speaker.

"Bethie?" She asked.

It was. Five-feet-nothing tall, with a figure like a twelve-year-old boy, coke-bottle glasses and limp, mousy hair, Bethie Kramer was impossible to mistake.

Bonnie wasn't surprised to see her, of course. She saw the less-popular girl around the school every day, and they even passed each other in the bathroom just like this occasionally. The shock was hearing her voice: they hadn't said a word to each other since seventh grade.

_Well, wasn't that what you wanted? You sure seemed to think so at the time!_

The smaller girl frowned. "I'm just Beth now. No one calls me that anymore."

"Can I?" Bonnie asked plaintively, surprising them both. "Please?"

There was a long moment of silence, during which Bonnie had time to think: _Why the hell did I ask that? She's going hate me even more now!_

"Okay."

Bonnie blinked. "Okay?"

Bethie nodded. "Okay. But you didn't answer my question."

"Why am I doing this?"

Bethie nodded again.

With a sigh, Bonnie leaned against the wall, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. After a moment or two of that, she let her head drop back against it with a bump and another sigh. "Bethie…that is such the long story."

"It must be, because it makes no sense by anything I know about you."

Bonnie's eyes opened and she raised her head. "What do you mean?" She asked.

"I mean that you _hate_ Kim Possible. She was always beating you and getting in your way. But once she was gone, all you had to do was nothing, and you could have had everything you ever wanted."

Bonnie let her head fall back again with another sigh and another bump. "People keep saying that."

"Because it's what you seemed to think was important. With her out of the way, you're at the top of the food chain."

Bonnie raised her head again, and when she opened her eyes this time, they were a little bit angry. "Okay, one:" She held up a finger. "She wasn't the only one who got thrown out – "

"Fair," Bethie interrupted. "But you know that no one would have bothered to throw out Ron Stoppable if Kim hadn't come back. Fair?"

"Fair," Bonnie admitted. "But that still leaves two:" She held up a second finger. "It's the right thing to do,"

Bethie just looked skeptical at that.

"And three," Bonnie paused as she held up a third finger, and when she continued it was very softly. "I've finally figured out that there are some things more important than the food chain."

Bethie stiffened a little at that. "There are?" She asked, her voice flat and unemotional.

Bonnie winced inwardly, but pressed on. "Yeah. This is one subject, I shudder to admit, where Kim Possible was much smarter than I am. She never gave up her best friend in the whole world just because she…" She paused, and her wince was outward this time. She'd been meaning to work up to that. "…he…was hopelessly geek-ridden."

Bethie didn't answer. The seconds ticked on and a silence as fragile and sharp as glass spun out between them.

Finally, Bonnie knew that she had to be the one to break it. She sighed and braced herself. "Look, Bethie, I know you hate me, but – "

"I don't hate you, Bonnie."

"I understand, but – what?"

"I don't hate you," Bethie repeated, shaking her head. "I wanted to. I tried. God knows you deserve it. But I never could."

"I'm glad," Bonnie said. She could have left it at that. She should have. But in the end, she couldn't stop herself from asking yet another question that she knew she shouldn't: "But that's not the same thing as forgiving me, is it?"

Bethie just stared at her for a long moment. Then her eyes started to glisten, and she swallowed hard. "No," she answered, her voice wavering. "You broke my heart, Bonnie."

She sniffed and wiped at her eyes, and Bonnie suddenly found herself stepping forward with her arms open. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Being with Bethie reminded her that it had seemed to come so naturally once. Maybe she was remembering how.

But Bethie stepped back, holding her hands up in front of her, ready to push her ex-best friend away. "Don't, Bonnie," she said sharply. "None of the reasons that you dumped me in the first place have changed."

Bonnie stopped and let her arms drop with a sigh. "Maybe not. But I have."

"Have you?" Bethie asked. "You seem to. That's why I came in here. I'd like to believe that, Bonnie. I really would."

Bonnie was about to ask what she could do to prove it, when the bell rang.

"Oh, no!" She cried. "I've kept you in here all period! I'm sorry, Bethie, I didn't mean to get you in trouble!"

Bethie just shrugged. "It's the first time I've ever skipped class in my life, so they'll probably believe me if I say I was sick in the bathroom. Besides, it doesn't make much difference."

"It doesn't?"

"No. After all – " The tiny girl gave a sudden, vicious grin. "I'm going to get into all sorts of trouble tomorrow when I take part in Schedule Dress Code."

----

After Bethie had left, Bonnie had a much clearer understanding of why Kim Possible brought a klutz like Ron Stoppable along on her missions.

----

It turned out that Bonnie saw Josh and Tara again considerably sooner than "tomorrow". They, along with Felix, Monique, Zita, Aaron, and Brick – and almost all of the former sports teams, a good chunk of the student body, most of the faculty, and a fair number of people from the community – attended that afternoon's demonstration.

So did Bethie.

There was a counter-demonstration across the street – considerably smaller, but also considerably angrier. Instead of chanting slogans, they seemed to prefer focusing on shouting insults and threats. One went so far as to throw a rock, but Felix caught it in one of his claws and crushed it to powder, and that was the last time anyone tried that.

It took every scrap of Bonnie's leadership skills to keep her crowd from responding in kind – they were plenty pissed, too, and it seemed that everyone in Middleton's temper was on edge these days – but the last thing they needed was for Kim and Ron's supporters to look as bad for the cameras as their detractors. It was a near thing, but in the end, it worked: keep marching, keep chanting, keep getting the message out. That was the way to win. No riots.

Bonnie made a rather shocking discovery that afternoon. For years, she'd believed that if she made the tiniest slip, showed the slightest weakness, she would fall from the top of the Food Chain and the social wolves would tear her apart. Well, it had finally happened, and the wolves were definitely circling – but there were also those who were helping to fend them off. Asking her if she was alright; telling her not to worry about either Burlson or the people shouting insults based on what had happened that day; promising her that everything would be okay, they'd get her back in, too.

She'd forgotten what it was like to have real friends. True, some of them were new – like Monique, Felix, Zita, and Aaron. But Brick, Josh, and especially Tara had been her friends for years, and she'd never realized it.

She didn't want to go home. But as afternoon darkened into evening and the demonstration broke up, she finally had to.

----

She'd entered the front door quietly, hoping to find her mother and explain the situation before anyone else realized she was home. She didn't need her sisters adding to her misery right now, and Peter Rockwaller (if he was actually home tonight) was liable to be _very_ unhappy that she'd been suspended. Whether it would be her or Superintendent Burlson who would be the target of his wrath was something of a toss-up. Probably both. If she could get to Mom first, maybe she could keep the sitch calm. Probably not, but –

She'd gone no more than a few steps when she realized that she was out of luck. Her whole family was sitting in the living room, watching TV.

That was weird. The last time the whole family had been huddled up together on the couch like that, Daddy had been reading a story to them. Bonnie had been four.

Oh, well. Better get it over with. "Mom, Dad," she said, stepping into the room. "I have something to tell you."

"Shh," Kathy Rockwaller said. "Come here, honey."

Confused, Bonnie did as she was bid – sitting between her parents and letting each of them wrap an arm around her (Mom's other arm was around Connie, Dad's around Lonnie). It felt nice – but also weird. This hadn't happened since she was four, and it was freaking her out.

"Mom, what's going on?"

"Something awful is happening, Bon-Bon."

More than a little frightened by now, Bonnie turned her attention to the screen. As she did, a familiar face appeared on it.

"My fellow Americans," that familiar face said. "People of the world. I bring grave news."

----

Outside, in the dark, something that never should have existed crossed the town line into Middleton. It gave its equivalent of a grin as anticipation filled it. Anticipation of prey – of the hunt, of the kill.

Not yet. For now, it would have to content itself with the animals that lived among its true prey, like those of its kind who had come before it. There were too few of them yet to form a proper pack. But soon. Soon there would be enough.

And then they would feed.


	5. Defense

**Most of this story has run parallel to "Bleeding Through" without any need to reference it directly. However, it's important to know that this chapter is between chapters 12 and 13 of "Bleeding Through".**

"Come on, Cleo!" The girl whispered frantically to the kitten in her jacket as it mewed again. "Be quiet!"

When Denise Edwards had left the Base in early afternoon, she'd thought that she had plenty of time to go home and find Cleo. It hadn't worked out that way.

Everything had been so crazy that first night – packing what they needed and fleeing, barely a step ahead of those…things. Denise hadn't realized until they were already at the Base that they'd forgotten Cleo in the confusion. She'd cried and begged, but no one would let her go back. That was three days ago, and she'd been so worried. All this time, Cleo alone in the house, without anyone to give her food or water, and who knew if something had broken in and gotten her?

Finally, she could stand it no more. She'd snuck out and gone home. She'd searched the house from top to bottom, and finally, to her great joy, she found Cleo alive. The poor thing had been hiding in the back of her parents' closet. Dad was going to be sooo tweaked when he found out what Cleo had done to his shoes. But at least she was safe.

Unfortunately, the search had taken hours, and when she finally came out, the sun was going down.

Bad things came out at night in Middleton these days. There were the lake-things, and there were…well, she supposed that they still counted as people. Maybe. Technically. But before everything had gone off the air but the occasional emergency broadcast, it had been pretty clear that the world was going crazy. And as far as Denise could tell, Middleton was a little bit worse.

She thought of them as Ravers, but someone back at the Base had called them Bacchantes. They roamed the Tri-city area in packs, looting and burning and breaking, eating their food straight from the butcher shop and the snack-food rack and rutting like animals. It seemed like everyone in the Tri-City area who had any vicious in their nature had gone wild and feral.

She'd seen a young couple that had been caught by Ravers. There was barely enough of the man left to bury, and the woman still hadn't spoken.

And there were a pack of them on her trail.

"Here, girl, here, girl…"

"We just want to play. Don't you want to play? Don't you want to be friendly?"

"You can't get away, you know. We can smell you. Smell your sweat, smell your fear…"

"Smell your cunt, just like Multiple Miggs. And soon we'll taste it."

Denise clutched Cleo closer, and the kitten squeaked in protest.

"There! She's there!"

Denise ran.

She raced through the darkening streets of Middleton, past empty, blind-windowed houses, taking turns at random and praying that she was still heading for the Base, toward safety instead of further into the hungry dark that Middleton had become.

It wasn't working.

They were right behind her, just around the last corner, taunting her with howls and yips and mocking shouts.

She wasn't an athlete – the most exercise she ever got was mall-walking. Her legs – and Cleo – were getting heavier by the second, and her breath came harder and harder, like the air was somehow turning solid around her.

A stitch pierced her side. They were going to catch her.

_I should let Cleo go – at least then she'll have a chance to escape. If I keep her, they'll kill her in front of me just to make me cry. And without her meowing, maybe I'll even have a chance to –_

Then something happened. The shouts and howls turned to screams.

_Oh, God, no_.

There was only one thing worse than Ravers.

Lake-things.

Denise found that she had a little energy left after all.

Her fresh burst of speed only lasted a few steps before she skidded to a halt, clutching Cleo even tighter. The kitten hissed and sank her tiny claws into the skin of her human's chest, but not because she was getting squeezed too tight.

Three lake-things had just come out of dark.

Two had once been coydogs before something had twisted them into misshapen things the size of Great Danes. Their mangy fur stuck out in spikes that actually looked sharp, and their mouths were filled with jagged, oversized teeth.

The third had once been an entire nest of snakes. Their bodies had fused into a single huge trunk that trailed off into the night. It looked like a snake that had no business being outside of a rain forest, except that where a head that could swallow a goat should have been, there was a hissing, writhing mass of heads that dripped with venom.

One of the coydogs growled and scraped sparks from the macadam with its claws as it crouched. Denise knew what was about to happen, but she was all but paralyzed with terror. All she could do was whimper and take a single trembling step backward.

Then the coydog launched itself at her and she screamed, reflexively turning away and curling herself around Cleo.

There was a strangled yelp and something hit her, and she screamed again before she realized that whatever had hit her, it wasn't solid muscle and spiked teeth, but some sort of hot liquid.

Slowly, cautiously, she turned back around, uncurling from around the protesting Cleo and opening her eyes (she didn't even remember closing them, but they were, they were squeezed tight).

The first thing she saw was that she was covered in blood. Blood and…other stuff. She didn't want to know what it was, but it looked gross and smelled worse. The next thing she saw would have made her scream again, if she could have gotten her chest to unlock.

The coydog hung in midair, its limbs twitching, its eyes bulging, and its gaping jaws dripping blood and foam.

Felix Renton hung in the air above it, in his wheelchair. He had impaled the monster on one of his chair's claws.

The other coydog huddled and whimpered, its tail between its legs, but the snake-thing reared up and hissed. Could it spit its venom? Hell, who knew? None of its heads were _supposed_ to have venom in the first place – they were all grass-snakes and garter snakes and water snakes, and once they'd been harmless.

They never found out. There was a flash and a blast, and suddenly there was only smoke where the snake-thing's heads had been. It stayed upright for a moment, still swaying, then collapsed to the ground, twitched a few times, and lay still.

Monique Pearman strode out of the night, holding something that looked like a high-tech rifle, and that trailed faintly glowing smoke from its barrel.

"Nobody hisses at my man," she declared.

The remaining coydog crouched and growled, undecided about which way to leap. Then another energy beam shot out of the dark and shattered the asphalt in front of its forepaws.

That made up its mind. It fled yelping into the night.

"Damn," Bonnie Rockwaller cursed as she appeared at Monique's side, holding a smoking pistol. "Missed."

"Can't be the queen at everything," Monique said. "Whatcha got?"

"We were too late for the psychos," Brick Flagg reported, coming up behind Bonnie. Instead of a high-tech weapon, he had a baseball bat slung on his shoulder.

"Hearbreaking," Bonnie said dismissively. Then she turned scornful eyes on Denise. "At least we managed to save the idiot."

Later, Denise would realize that she'd put both herself and them in danger by leaving the Base. It wasn't really that difficult a concept, but right now, she was too deep in shock to realize anything but: 1) Bonnie looked angry and 2) She was pretty sure that she'd wet her pants, but it was hard to tell with all the blood.

"I'm sorry – " She whispered. Bonnie looked like she was about to snap 'you should be' when Denise opened her jacket to reveal the trembling kitten clinging to her sweater. " – but I had to save Cleo."

Bonnie and Monique looked at each other. Bonnie seemed to concede something, and she turned away with a roll of her eyes and a noise of disgust.

"Of course you did, honey," Monique said, putting an arm around her, unmindful of the blood.

"Come on," Felix said, landing beside them. "Let's get you back to Smarty Mart."

----

Denise's parents rushed out as soon as the rescue squad reached the Smarty Mart parking lot.

"Denise! Honey!"

"Oh, my God!"

"It's okay," Monique said as she handed the girl over to them. "She's okay. This isn't her blood."

Mom was satisfied by that, and promptly turned her full attention to hugging Denise tight and alternating between telling her how scared they'd been, how happy they were to see her, and how they'd kill her if she ever pulled a stunt like that again. For her part, Denise did her best to defend herself, holding up a protesting Cleo as evidence.

Dad, however…

Monique was just turning away to give them a moment when he whirled on her.

"Is that what our idea of 'okay' is now?" He demanded.

Caught off-guard, Monique froze, staring at him.

"She's in shock and covered with blood," He continued. "But everything's just peachy!"

"Glen!" Mom protested.

Recovering, Monique's face clouded over. "You have no idea how much worse it could've been," she said. "And you're welcome."

She turned to a glaring Felix, took his hand, and started to walk away.

Dad watched them go, his face turning purple. Part of him realized that she was right, and may even have been ashamed. But another part was still in a frenzy of fear hidden as anger, and wanted to keep lashing out. The rest resented being put in its place by a teenager.

"Glen, don't – "

"Not good enough!" He bellowed after the departing teenagers. "Not good enough, and I'll see to it – "

He spun on his heel, and nearly ran directly into Bonnie Rockwaller, who was standing behind him with her hands on her hips.

Immediately upon arriving at Smarty Mart, she'd hurried to the infirmary that Mrs. Dr. Possible had set up in the pharmacy, and retrieved Bethie, who'd chosen to help out there rather than woman the barricades with tweeb-constructed firearms as Bonnie had volunteered to do.

Upon returning, and seeing just which set of parents had rushed out to greet their idiot rescuee, she'd known there would be trouble.

Funny. They'd expected to get this kind of crap from Burlson, but no one had seen him since the evacuation. Apparently, there always had to be at least one.

Glen Edwards was the father of not just Denise, but the infamous Darren, and it hadn't taken long after meeting the man for Bonnie to figure out where his children had gotten their looks and their brains, though she had to wonder – considering that Mom was such a washed-up nonentity – where Denise had gotten her guts.

He was a Partner at one of Middleton's law firms – a big fish in a small pond, and used to getting his way. He'd been trying to put himself in charge ever since the population of Middleton had retreated to Smarty Mart, and despite the fact that few, even – _especially _– his co-workers and employees, wanted him to have any kind of power, the scared, confused people of Middleton might have allowed it to happen if the Possible family hadn't come from as far away as Florida and Montana to rally the populace, build the defenses, and ruin it all for him.

He didn't stop trying, though. And he wouldn't. He _couldn't_. If he wasn't in charge, if he couldn't control his world, he started to panic.

Bonnie understood perfectly. Didn't mean that she could allow it.

"Complaints about the service?" She asked.

"You could say that," Glen Edwards answered, recovering from the near-collision.

"Maybe you should show us how it's done, then," Bonnie said. "Or are you too busy hanging around in the camping section trying to convince everyone that if _you_ were in charge, we'd be sitting back in our living rooms watching _American Star Maker_ by now?"

Edwards turned purple. He'd been shamed by these little _girls_ one too many times today.

"I know you," he said, shaking a finger in her face. "You're the delinquent who's been disrupting the high school for the last month, trying to get Kim Possible un-expelled."

"And Ron Stoppable."

He didn't show any sign of having heard her. "You've spent that month telling us how brave and helpful and heroic and _wonnnderful_ she was, when she wasn't blowing up rooms full of innocent kids. So tell me: where's your plaster saint now, when she might actually be useful? Huh? Where is Joan of Arc now?"

A non sequitur. That happened when you were lashing out at random. Attacking what he perceived as a weak point, just to score a victory of any kind, to diminish her in the eyes of any onlookers, or at least her own. And throwing some blame on someone _other_ than himself in the bargain, someone that he already resented.

Also, a mistake.

Slim and Joss Possible reined in their mechanical horses and turned their heads.

Nana Possible looked up from her conversation with Felix and Monique – they were apparently delivering a report on the rescue mission – and frowned in Glen's direction. It was the sort of frown that the people of Middleton had come to respect after the third time she'd broken a lake-thing's neck with her bare hands while wearing it.

Bystanders – including Mom and Denise – either stared in disbelief or openly glared at him.

Bonnie just met his glare calmly. More than anyone else in Middleton, she knew how to handle Glen Edwards.

_Hell, I could've grown up to _be _this moron._

"I know you, too," she answered. "You were one of the people who sued to get her out. Well, congratulations –" She waved at the Smarty Mart's parking lot – the trashbarrel fires, the barricades made of wrecked cars and piled furniture, the pyre where they were burning a lake-thing (a frog the size of a small pony with three-inch teeth and a tongue that could catch and hold one of the Montana Possibles' mechanical horses). "This is what getting your wish looks like."

Ignoring his hostile audience, Glen puffed up and prepared to deliver a retort, when the voice of Wade Load – a voice that had become familiar and trusted to all of the refugees of Middleton – came over the loudspeakers:

"Attention, everyone! Attention! I have the news that you've all been waiting for: they're coming home. Repeat: they are coming home!"

The refugees of Middleton burst out into wild cheers as Glen Edwards looked around, stunned.

"Besides," Bonnie answered with her once-customary smirk spreading across her face. "There's your answer."

**To be continued in "Bleeding Through"**


End file.
